The Special Education Conundrum

Unfortuantely, in the last 10 years, inclusion has become an
increasingly difficult ideology to sell to my students, and to
myself.

My home state of Vermont has been committed to "full inclusion" since
long before it became a national issue. As a teacher-educator in a
state where virtually all students with disabilities are placed in
regular education classrooms, I have a mandate to prepare prospective
teachers for classes in which there will be a wide range of student
abilities. And while mainstreaming is often a hot topic of debate with
my students, the primary emphasis in my classes has always been on
how to plan, manage, deliver, and evaluate instruction
effectively in diverse classroom settings—as this is what new
teachers must do when they graduate, regardless of their politics.

My own view has always been that, given the right supports,
inclusion is a powerful educational philosophy for both academic and
social reasons. Unfortunately, in the last 10 years, we have seen a
gradual erosion of these "supports," and inclusion has become an
increasingly difficult ideology to sell to my students, and to
myself.

Perhaps the greatest threat to inclusion is the reluctance of
competent special educators to work as special educators,
particularly when they can secure regular education teaching positions.
Like almost every state in the nation, Vermont is now facing an urgent
special education crisis.

Perhaps the
greatest threat to inclusion is the reluctance of competent
special educators to work as special
educators.

While there are numerous openings for special educators, few want these
jobs because of the enormous disincentives. These include: a staggering
amount of paperwork, overwhelming caseloads, endless meetings,
escalating discipline problems (with little support from agencies
outside the school), and increasingly adversarial, uncivil, and
litigious parents. In addition, many feel that the job requires almost
daily compromising of one's integrity, as special educators often must
choose between protecting the fiduciary interests of the school (on
which their jobs depend), and the educational needs and civil rights of
the students on the caseloads.

More fundamental issues, however, are also at stake. Imagine, for
example, being rushed into the emergency room on a gurney. Your heart
is beating irregularly, you are flushed; sharp pains shoot through your
chest and left arm. Soon, a cardiologist arrives on the scene. She
looks down at you plaintively, turns to the nurse and says: "This is
serious; I'd say a heart attack. You know Edith, who volunteers
upstairs in the flower shop? We better have her come down right away
and take a look—I've got some Medicaid forms to complete."

Sounds crazy? As Richard Lavoie aptly observes, this parable depicts
special education as it is practiced today. All too often, the most
highly trained special educators wallow in a sea of paperwork while
well-meaning, but undertrained (and underpaid) paraprofessionals,
volunteer grandmothers, and special education aides provide direct
service to the nation's neediest students.

Such direct "service" invariably occurs in regular classrooms, often
more closely resembling babysitting than quality educational
programming. Virtually no one benefits. Many students with disabilities
get an education that is anything but special. Special educators are
frustrated and are leaving the field in huge numbers. Paraprofessionals
turn over even more quickly; despite their hard work and
dedication—many work for the minimum wage—they often lack
the skills they need to work with our most challenging students.

What should we do instead? First, let's begin by being honest.
Simply licensing more special educators will not solve these problems.
Instead, we need to make the kind of sweeping changes that keep
talented individuals in the field. This means radically overhauling
special education, so that professionals can actually spend most of
their time working with students. Second, let's acknowledge that the
system does not need paraprofessionals.

It is time to challenge shortsighted "cost containment" procedures
masquerading as philosophical arguments for inclusion.

We need paralegals who can take care of the enormous volume
of state and federally mandated paperwork, so that special educators
can do what they are uniquely trained to do: teach our neediest
students, and provide expert consultation to help mainstream teachers
provide students with disabilities an appropriate education in the
context of the regular classroom. Many people enjoy and are skilled at
clerical tasks. Shouldn't we be training them (perhaps in one-year
undergraduate programs?) to handle the distinct administrative demands
that are part and parcel of modern special education?

Third, and most important, it is time to challenge shortsighted
"cost containment" procedures masquerading as philosophical arguments
for inclusion. Adoption of these policies comes at a steep price at the
expense of our children. In Vermont, and in many other states around
the nation, recent legislative mandates encourage schools to curb
special education costs by making fewer students eligible for services.
Many students with emotional disturbances, for example, may soon find
themselves ineligible for special education under the Individuals with
Disabilities Education Act because the therapeutic services they
require do not constitute "specialized instruction."

For students who are too depressed, anxious, or aggressive to learn,
what could possibly be of greater value than specialized instruction in
prosocial behaviors like empathy, goal-setting, and anger management?
Will counseling no longer be permitted in school under the auspices of
IDEA because it is not considered "instruction"? It is ironic that here
in Vermont, and elsewhere around the country, we lack enough beds for
students who cannot function in the mainstream, yet state education
departments continue to propose eliminating the very services that help
prevent the need for such residential support.

I still believe inclusion is a powerful educational philosophy. But
in practice, we have a long way to go. And I fear that unless we make
changes—dramatic changes—we will find ourselves where we
were before the IDEA, as segregated, institution-like care will begin
to look more appealing than what often passes as special education
today.

Bruce Marlowe is a professor of special education at Johnson
State College in Johnson, Vt.

Bruce Marlowe is a professor of special education at Johnson State
College in Johnson, Vt.

Vol. 20, Issue 31, Page 43

Published in Print: April 18, 2001, as The Special Education Conundrum

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